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20.10.2012

Paranoia (part 2)

Me in front of the fireplace, Richard's football trophy, a duster in
my hands… and then? I'm terribly
afraid. Pictures flash past: noises, pieces of incoherent speech, Richard's face close to
mine, a hand being extended. I'm unable to move or breathe. Beads of sweat are rolling down my
cheeks. I'm afraid, want to escape…The memories are so powerful that I'm overwhelmed by dizziness. I'm
drenched in sweat and feel
sticky. I drag myself to the bathroom, over a floor that feels like chewing
gum. Exhausted, I'm
hanging on to the basin. The water I splash in my face has no effect. I feel stickier than
ever, can't bring myself to look at my reflection in the mirror.

***

I think it's time I told you more
about Richard. My friends wouldn't believe me; least of all Charlene.
But you will listen, won't you? He's not vicious, you know. It's only that he's
so hot-tempered.
It's his Irish ancestry. The stress of his work gets him down, too. He hardly ever hurts me
seriously. It must have been me, then, who dropped the football trophy. That would explain why
he became so furious; it's very dear to him. It's not as bad as last time actually. Strange,
come to think of it, today it doesn't hurt at all.

I'll make myself a cup of coffee.
That'll help me to come to grips. Now, where's the sugar? In the living room.
Richard must've left it there yesterday evening. He usually makes me a cup of
tea after he's... I'll have to get it, can't drink my coffee without sugar. Bother!
Why am I so scared of entering that room all of a sudden? Don't be silly, girl!
Catch your breath and in you go!It's even worse this time. I've
hardly put my foot over the threshold when a cold wave washes over me. I get
giddy and have to cling to the doorpost not to fall over. I can't breathe and
the blood is rushing in my ears. Through the noise I hear steps from the
staircase outside. My temples are throbbing. Whatever it is, it's coming for
me, I know. It's reached the top of the stairs. It's approaching the door. Now
the sound of a key in the lock. It's Richard!No, it can't be. He's at work. But
who else has got a key? Eventually, I'm able to let go of the doorpost
and run to the bedroom. The best thing will be to hide until the intruder has left. My heart is
pounding so hard he'll hear me. The steps go to the living room. Something is being
dragged over the floor. The thing I'm looking for! "Don't be stupid," I tell myself. "What should you be
looking for?"The stranger is rummaging about. Probably a burglar who presumed
we'd both be out at work. If it were Richard, he'd have called my name by now.
Where is he? Why is he not here when I need him so badly?

***

I must have fallen asleep. I didn't
hear when the intruder left, but all is quiet now. Cautiously, with a
still pounding heart, I emerge from under the bed. Incredible how much dust has gathered
in the short time we've been living here. The flat is deserted but I still
can't bring myself to
have a look in the living room. I go to the kitchen for a drink of water and stop dead.Richard's football trophy is
standing in the sink. Drops of water are glistening on it and running down the
polished surface. The rounded top is dented. What has he been doing, and why has he washed
it? I'd better put it back on the mantelpiece or he'll be mad at me
again. One beating because of the
blasted thing's quite enough for a while. As I'm turning around, I notice Richard standing in the door.(To be continued)Pictures from Clip Art Gallery